221A's Darling Resident
by ineedalife1118
Summary: Princess Anne leaves the lap of luxury to begin solving crimes with THE Sherlock Holmes. She starts to do things shes never done before, and in the middle of all her excitement, she starts to feel a special fondness for Sherlock. Set shortly before the first episode and continues through. First Sherlock fanfiction! Sherlock/OC, maybe a little Moriarty/OC. Please read!
1. Chapter 1

They say that curiosity killed the cat. That, however, would not stop Anne from opening that ever so tantalizing and mysterious door. It seemed to practically call her name, wishing and wanting for her to come forth. She felt her breathing grow shallow; the clicking of her heels echoing throughout the silence, accommodated by the rapid beating of her heart. She reached for the door knob hesitantly, turning it ever so gently, and peered through the small crack. She stayed there for a few seconds, and when nothing happened, she shoved it open the rest of the way.

A blinding light seemed to explode all around her, and it took a few seconds for her eyes to adjust. When her eyes did finally adjust, she found herself surrounded by people waving and cheering on either side of a long red carpet, restrained by red felt ropes. She was so confused that all she could do was give a nervous smile and wave back, slowly composing herself, her eyes roaming through the sea of people frantically. Suddenly realizing her situation, Anne went into full on princess mode and gave one of her dazzling smiles, occasionally giving a "how do you do?" or a "Pleased to meet you." Her facade was quickly broken, however, by a knife to her throat.

"Hello princess..." An older mans voice spoke from behind her. She recognized the voice vaguely, and her suspicions were confirmed when the man turned her around to face him.

"Doctor Andrews?!" She gasped as he pressed the knife harder into her neck, causing a trickle of blood to stain the white ball gown she was modeling. He had a crazed look in his eyes, a murderous look, and she could tell he wasn't the same man whom she had known since birth.

"Time to take your medicine princess..." He struggled to pull out a pill whilst still holding her still. When Anne saw the drug, she just knew that it was poison, and felt herself start to shake uncontrollably. She tried to push his hand away from her, but their strength difference was obvious. She began to cry as his hand came closer and closer, promising an end to her existence. She closed her eyes and wished for something to happen, anything really, so that she wouldn't have to die in such a horrible manner.

As if on cue, she woke up sweat drenched and crying.

"Good morning princess." Mrs. Eldegards shrill voice rang throughout Anne's pompous room. Anne, still breathing heavily, addressed her with a nod, and wiped away the tears from her pale cheeks.

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Anne trudged through her morning agenda begrudgingly, wishing that she could instead be whisked away to a party of sorts. She didn't mean the formal balls she was forced to attend, but wanted more to go to the peoples parties, or as Mrs. Eldegard called them, common folk. Anne sat in the limo staring out the window, sighing every so often to let her personal police officer, James Beaton, know that she was not enjoying herself.

"Anne, I know that you aren't particularly fond of politics, but you can at least _pretend_ that it's tolerable." He finally spoke up, causing Anne to draw her eyes away from the passing scenery.

"But why should I pretend when it's only you and I?" Anne smiled sadly at the man. They weren't particularly close, but then again, she wasn't particularly close with anyone. She would probably consider her soon to be step-sister, Kate, her closest acquaintance.

"I suppose you don't have to... It's just that I hate to see you so glum when there's a ball coming up tonight!" James attempted to cheer her up, but this seemed to make her even more upset.

"I remember when the royal balls were fun..." Anne sighed, "but now all I get to do is engage old men with pointless conversation!" Anne turned back towards the window with a childish pout.

"Anne, those old men are world leaders! It would be in your best interest to stay on their good side! It would be in all of Great Britains interest for you to stay on their good sides!" He raised his voice, causing Anne to jump in her seat, but she stubbornly refused to even face him any longer.

They were in the middle of London when suddenly, the limo came to an abrupt stop. This was followed by some yelling, and then a gunshot.

"What was that?!" Anne looked to James with a panic stricken face.

"Stay here princess." James exited the limo to find out what in the world was happening. Anne crawled over to the other side to watch him as he approached a man, who promptly pointed a gun at him. James seemed to be trying to calm the man down, but it was hard for Anne to understand the muffled sound through the window.

"Where's the princess?!" The man yelled at James. Anne ducked her head as the guy looked over at her. When James saw this, he knew the mans intentions. He attempted to disarm the man, but failed, resulting in a gunshot wound in the chest. Anne then began to feel the same terror that she felt in her nightmare, crying and panting as the man shot James a again, this time in the head. He began to approach the limo, and Anne scurried over to the other side, tripping over her ridiculously large skirt. The man, whom she would later find out was Ian Ball, opened the door and pointed the gun at her.

"Step out of the car princess!" He barked at her, but Anne, despite her fear, sat still. She attempted to look calm and in charge, and ignored the fact that she was shaking like mad.

"Not bloody likely!" She yelled right back, and considered punching him in the face for James...

Poor James...they may not of been close, but she was quite fond of him. She remembered how she used to steal his helmet and play pranks on him when she was younger, and how he would give her a lecture afterwards...she thought he was a darling man, and in no way deserved to die...especially not for her...

Ian began to grab for her, and Anne managed to kick him in the face in the midst of their struggle, but it didn't stop him. Anne found it no use as the man got a good hold on her and began dragging her out. All Anne could do was scream, and pray for god to send one of his angels to save her.

Fortunately for Anne, god did just that.

Ian was knocked out cold by a blow to the back of the head. Anne gasped as Ian fell on top of her, and she quickly pushed him off. When she looked up, there was another man. A man of great bravery and cunning. A man whom was more like a god than a human. A man whom she would come to find to be the most wonderful man she will of ever known.

This however did not register at the time, so she punched him in the face.

The man recoiled, holding his bloodied nose as he let out a few curses. This allowed Anne to fully see the man. He had dark curly hair, and cheek bones of a model. He wore a long coat along with a scarf, and under those things was a nice suit. She would've thought he was an angel if it wasn't for his lack of wings and the string of curses that continually flowed from his mouth.

**-Anne's Point of View**

"What the hell was that for?!" He yelled in a deep (and very attractive) voice, which startled me. This is when I finally realized he wasn't with Ian. He was in fact trying to save me, which would explain why he had knocked Ian out...

"I'm so sorry!" I apologized, getting out of the car to help him, but was stopped by his outstretched hand.

"I'm fine!" He said standing back up, revealing his bloodied nose. "But we need to get you out of here." He grabbed my hand and we began to run from the crime scene, me struggling to keep up seeing as I was wearing heels.

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We ran for quite a while before one of my guards found us. He drove us all the way to Buckingham palace, where a frantic Mrs. Eldegard awaited. We were sitting in one of the many extravagant rooms sipping tea as Mrs. Eldegard frantically asked questions.

"Are you quite alright?" She asked for the eighth time. I rolled my eyes, getting awfully tired of that question.

"Yes, I'm fine." I answered vaguely, much to interested in the man whom had saved, quite possibly, my life. He had been taken to the nurses, despite his protesting that he was fine.

"Who was that young man with the bloody nose?" I shrugged.

"I don't know." I sipped my tea in thought._ Who was he indeed..._

Later that evening I went into the nurses to find him there still. His nose was completely fixed, and his face was clean, allowing Anne to notice how incredibly handsome the man was. At a loss for words, all she could do was mutter a hello.

"Hello. You must be princess Anne." He looked up from his cup of tea. I smiled and nodded. He stood up and straightened out his suit.

"Well, i'll be leaving now." I wasn't sure why, but I didn't want him to go. I wanted to know more about my hero.

"But sir!" He turned round to face me as he put on his coat and scarf, giving me a look that said _yes, what do you want now?_

"I just wanted to say thank you..." I smiled gratefully (as a princess should) and he smiled and nodded in reply, but once again made a break for the door.

"I was wondering if you would like to come to the ball tonight!" I called after him, causing him to stop and look at me. His eyes seemed to scan me, but I stood unwavering. "As thanks for rescuing me..." I explained, and waited for a reply.

"No, I don't care much for parties. Now if you'll excuse me..." He obviously wanted to go home and pretend this never happened, but I was still curious (I swear this trait will lead to my downfall).

"Why not?" I followed him towards the front door, once again trying to keep up in my heels.

"Why not what?" He didn't stop to face me this time.

"Why don't you like parties?" I inquired. I knew I was probably just a nuisance, but I didn't care. I honestly wanted to know.

"Because there are people at parties." He answered simply, finally managing to locate the front door.

"I'll take it you aren't much of a people person?" I followed him outside, taking off my heels quickly and lifting my dress so I wouldn't get mud on the bottoms. It's so hard to get stains out of this fancy white material.

"No." He opened the door to an escort that I had arranged for him. He got in, making me feel rather awkward for just standing there, so I knocked on the window. He sighed as he rolled it down.

"What's you're name?" I peered in the window, resting my hands on my knees.

"Sherlock Holmes." He smiled a polite, yet obviously fake smile.

"Well Mr. Holmes-"

"Sherlock, please." He interrupted.

"Well Sherlock," I started again, "It was a pleasure meeting you, and I hope to see you again in the near future." I smiled a dazzling smile to show him my sincerity. Unfortunately, I could've swore I heard him mutter 'not likely' as the car began to drive away._ Sherlock Holmes, hmmm?_

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It had been weeks since my encounter with Sherlock. Not to worry though. I found myself occupied with attending my chauffeur and personal police officers funerals, along with multiple party and charity engagements. Quite a depressing week indeed. I had almost completely forgot about him until one night, I was feeling particularly blue. Mrs. Eldegard had read off tomorrow's agenda, making me realize my whole life was planned out. I had even yelled at her! When she left to get me some "happy pills" I escaped out the window. I wasn't sure why, but I was fed up. I just wanted a normal life! A life where I could choose my own agenda! Being smart, I of course packed a ton of cash along with a few sare clothes. Having no time to change, I snuck out in my night gown.

Have I mentioned how much i hate my gown? And my underwear too. They're both so old fashioned and uncomfortable, that I can hardly stand them! One of the first things on my new agenda was to buy pajamas. REAL pajamas. The ones with a top and a bottom part. I would only wear the top part though. I remember how shocked I was when I learned that some people went to sleep in nothing at all! Quite scandalous. Anyway, when I made my escape, I realized I had no where to go. That's when I remembered Sherlock. I remember when the escort came back from delivering Sherlock home, I had asked him where he lived (for future reference of course), and he told me 221B Baker st. Well, I figured, I don't know anyone else in all of London. And with that, I left. It was quite a long walk, but eventually I found it.

Sherlock was away at the time, so I spoke with Mrs. Hudson, the landlady. She was a bit alarmed by the hour in which I arrived, but she seemed to like me overall (or at least I had hoped so). I set up a rent deal immediately for apartment 221A, the flat right above 221B. I think Mrs. Hudson was too tired to object... I didn't have any furniture with me obviously, so I had to do with the old mattress that she let me use. In the morning, I decided, i would go see Sherlock._ This should be interesting. I've never had my own flat before... Hell, there's lots of things I've never done before._ As I lied down, my situation hit me. I just ran away from home in my nightgown, rented a flat, and basically gave up my life of luxury. As I sat there letting this sink in, I couldn't help but begin to laugh like a lunatic.

"I just...bought a flat...I'm a commoner now!" I said to myself between giggles. I was glad no one was around, otherwise they'd think I was mad. Hell, even I was beginning to question my sanity! After my giggle resided (which I think may of given me abs, my stomach hurt so bad), I fell asleep, wondering what the _hell_ i was doing here.


	2. Chapter 2

The next morning, I woke up to the smell of tea and biscuits. Just the smell was enough to make my mouth water and my stomach growl. That's another reason I'm glad I left the palace. The royal diet (UGH). I honestly think the dog got better food than me!

I got up and dressed myself in a high-waisted, dusty pink tutu skirt along with a short, cream sweater-like top. I then put on a plain gold necklace and some black flats to pull the outfit together. I quickly brushed my long black hair, silently thanking my hair for having a beautiful natural wave, before running down the stairs like a kid on Christmas (I was really hungry, okay? I didn't think to bring snacks when I ran away).

When I reached the bottom of the stairs, I found Mrs. Hudson holding the tray which held the tea and biscuits I longed for.

"Good morning Anne!" She smiled, "I was just about to bring these up." She lifted the tray a bit; my eyes following it hungrily. I quickly looked back to her once I realized what she was implying.

"They're for me?" I blinked a few times, honestly surprised by her hospitality. She nodded,

"Of course dear! But remember, this is a one time thing. I'm just your landlady." I smiled gratefully and nodded, taking the tray into my hands.

"Thank you," I politely curtsied, "but I couldn't possibly eat all these myself! Would you do me a favor and help me? I'd hate to waste such good biscuits!" Mrs. Hudson seemed a bit taken back by my offer.

"Why, sure!" She smiled, "We can eat in my kitchen since we're so close." I followed her, noting the interior of her flat. It was a bit old fashioned, but well kept, which is what most would expect upon first meeting Mrs. Hudson. As we sat down, she insisted on pouring the tea, so I happily allowed her seeing as I usually had other people pour my tea for me.

"You know, most young people these days never have time to sit down and have a chat. Always so consumed in those phones and laptops; never could figure out those things." She began to ramble, and I politely listened whilst adding an "indeed" when necessary. I honestly enjoyed her company, and thought that she may very well end up being one of my first true friends.

"Now, the rent for that flat is nothing to scoff at. Maybe you should consider getting a flat mate." I nervously sat down my tea. I wasn't sure I wanted Mrs. Hudson to know who I truly was. I was fortunate enough that the paparazzi ignored me, so I wouldn't be easily recognizable, but if I paid the whole rent myself, she might realize who I was. Having a roommate to help pay the rent would be a good alibi. I cleared my throat and smiled.

"Yes, I thought I'd start searching for one. I should be able to handle the rent until I find one." She smiled. Mission keep your landlady from knowing you're a princess is a success. Proceed to do inside happy dance.

We continued to make small talk until there was a knock on the door.

"Ooh, that must be Sherlock!" She got up, quickly wiping the crumbs from her mouth as she made her way to the door. I followed close behind, straightening my skirt and adjusting my posture in an attempt to look princess-y so that Sherlock might recognize me. I could feel a smile creep on my face as the door opened, revealing my savior in the same long wool coat and scarf.

"Sherlock, hello." Mrs Hudson greeted him, sharing a brief hug. Sherlock turned his body so that Mrs. Hudson could get a look at the man accompanying him.  
"Mrs Hudson, Doctor John Watson." He introduced them, allowing them to share a brief hello. Mrs. Hudson invited them in, john giving a polite thank you. Anne noticed the mans cane; a great curiosity over coming her.

"What happened?" I inquired, stepping closer to the man. He almost jumped a bit, obviously just now realizing I had been standing there.

"What? Oh..." John looked down at his leg, "nice to meet you too..." He muttered under his breath with a cough. Sherlock, too, just noticed her presence and turned to face her, furrowing his brow.

"What are you doing here?" He asked, looking to Mrs. Hudson for an answer. Mrs. Hudson wasn't sure what he was even asking, so she just gave him a confused look as John explained he was in the war.

"I see..." I bent down to get a closer look and almost considered poking it, but managed to restrain myself. I straightened myself and looked at Sherlock with what probably looked like a maniacal smile. "Hello Sherlock."

"Yes, hello, what are you doing here?" He spoke quickly. I opened my mouth but no words came out. What was I doing here? I mean, I knew I wanted to leave the palace, but why I chose to come here, I wasn't entirely sure. I mean, I barely know Sherlock!

"Anne lives in 221A, the flat above yours." Mrs. Hudson explained for me. I nodded, bouncing a bit on my toes from excitement. Sherlock gave me a look before turning around and trotting up the stairs, waiting for John to hobble up after him. Sherlock opened the door ahead of him and walked in, revealing the living room of the flat. John followed him in and looked around the room, noting all the books and junk scattered all around the room. I followed behind, pouting a bit that Sherlock didn't have much to say about my being here.

"Well, this could be very nice. Very nice indeed." John said, still looking around.

"Yes. Yes, I think so. My thoughts precisely." Sherlock smiled.

"So I went straight ahead and moved in." "Soon as we get all this rubbish cleaned out ... Oh." They spoke simultaneously. I couldn't help but giggle a bit, earning a look from Sherlock.

"I don't remember inviting you in to our flat, princess." Sherlock revealed my cover to John, who looked honestly confused.

"Princess?" I ducked my head, feeling a bit exposed.

"Yes. John, meet Her Royal Highness The Princess Anne." John looked at me with wide eyes.

"She's Princess Anne? The Princess Anne?!" He asked, obviously flustered that he had royalty in his soon to be flat. I gave a little smile and wave, unsure of what to say.

"You're perfectly fine to stay!" John said, earning a disapproving look from sherlock and a smirk from me, "Um, would you like tea? Anything at all?"

"No thank you. I just had tea with Mrs. Hudson." I sat down on one of the couches.

"So this is all ..." John got back to the matter at hand, but wasn't sure what to say.

"Well, obviously I can, um, straighten things up a bit." Sherlock attempted to straighten up, throwing a couple of folders into a box and then taking some apparently unopened envelopes across to the fireplace where he put them onto the mantelpiece and then stabbed them with a knife, securing them in place. Suddenly, John lifted his cane to point at a skull on the mantelpiece.

"That's a skull." He said, obviously wanting an explanation. I just looked at it with awe; questioning if it were real or not.

"Friend of mine." Sherlock started to explain, "When I say 'friend' ..."  
Mrs Hudson came into the room as Sherlock shrugged off his coat.

"What do you think, then, Doctor Watson? There's another bedroom upstairs if you'll be needing two bedrooms." Johns face gave off a look that said: WTF? While I tried to hold back a giggle.

"Of course we'll be needing two."

"Oh, don't worry; there's all sorts round here. Mrs Turner next door's got married ones." John looked to Sherlock, who was to consumed in his own thoughts to object. I couldn't help but giggle that time.

"Oh, Sherlock! The mess you've made!" Mrs. Hudson called from the kitchen as she attempted to tidy up. John sat down across from me and looked to Sherlock who seemed to be brooding.

"I looked you up on the internet last night." John spoke up, catching my interest. Sherlock turned to him slightly.

"Anything interesting?"

"Found your website, The Science of Deduction." Sherlock had a smug smile on his face.

"What did you think?" Instead of praising him, John gave him a look, causing Sherlock to give a look of hurt and confusion.

"You said you could identify a software designer by his tie and an airline pilot by his left thumb."

"Yes; and I can read your military career in your face and your leg, and your brother's drinking habits in your mobile phone." Sherlock said, and I couldn't help but give a look of admiration.

"How?" But sherlock didn't reply. He only turned away with a smile.

"I wanna try!" I blurted suddenly.

"Try what exactly?" John asked as I stood up and walked over to Sherlock.

"Deduction. I've never deduced anything before." Sherlock looked at me with interest.

"All right. Try it then." Sherlock said straightening himself.

"Um, okay. I've never done this before so..."

"Just observe. Then take those observations and make a deduction." Sherlock instructed me; perhaps interested to see what I could do.

"Well...I'd say that you and John are recent acquaintances by the way you speak to each other. Ummmm... I can tell you're very intelligent, but can be a bit blunt sometimes by the fact that you told me that you aren't a people person. Maybe you have a thing where you believe everyone else is stupid? You take good care of yourself, which is more than an be said for your flat..." I tried to think of something else, but that was all I could think of.

"Good. For a beginner." Sherlock said, "You're obviously missing parts, but not bad." I smiled a this sort of compliment. Mrs. Hudson then came out of the kitchen wielding a newspaper.

"What about these suicides then, Sherlock? I thought that'd be right up your street. Three exactly the same." Sherlock walked over to the window and looked out.

"Four. There's been a fourth. And there's something different this time."

"A fourth?" Suddenly an man burst into the flat.

"Where?"

"Brixton, Lauriston Gardens."

"What's new about this one? You wouldn't have come to get me if there wasn't something different."

"You know how they never leave notes?"

"Yeah."

"This one did. Will you come?"

"Who's on forensics?"

"It's Anderson." Sherlock grimaced.

"Anderson won't work with me."

"Well, he won't be your assistant."

"I need an assistant."

"I'll be your assistant!" I raised my hand excitedly. Sherlock looked at me but didn't say anything.

"Will you come?" Lestrade continued.

"Not in a police car. I'll be right behind."

"Thank you." Lestrade nodded at John and I before rushing back down the stairs.

As soon as Lestrade exited, Sherlock leapt into the air with pure exhilaration on his face.

"Brilliant! Yes! Ah, four serial suicides, and now a note! Oh, it's Christmas!" I giggled at his enthusiasm, "Mrs Hudson, I'll be late. Might need some food."

"I'm your landlady, dear, not your housekeeper."

"Something cold will do. John, have a cup of tea, make yourself at home. Don't wait up! Anne, with me." My eyes went wide with a mix of happiness and excitement.

"You'll let me come with you?" I smiled.

"I said I needed an assistant and I meant it. Unless of course you don't want to-"

"No-No-No-No! Of course I want to go!" I retrieved my coat before heading down the stairs. I could feel the excitement radiating off of me, and even Sherlock picked up on it and smiled at me. I could tell that I was going to like Mr. Holmes.


	3. Chapter 3

"Wait up!" I called, desperately trying to put on my coat and catch up to the fleeting detective. Suddenly, without a word, he actually stopped, finally allowing me to catch up. I started to thank him, but sighed instead as Sherlock, without explanation, started back up the stairs. I reluctantly followed, deciding not to bother asking for an explanation.

When we returned to his flat, we found John reading a newspaper, exactly where we left him.

"You're a doctor. In fact you're an Army doctor." Sherlock spoke to him, causing John to look up and realize we were both standing there.

"Yes." He stood and turned to face Sherlock, who made his way into the room.

"Any good?" I wondered what Sherlock was getting at, but assured myself that his intentions would be revealed.

"Very good." John said with a confidence I hadn't seen in him before.

"Seen a lot of injuries then; violent deaths." Sherlock stepped towards him, leaving me to watch in the door frame.

"Mmm, yes."

"Bit of trouble too, I bet."

"Of course, yes. Enough for a lifetime. Far too much."

"Wanna see some more?"

"Oh God, yes." I smiled at the scene. I could tell that they were going to get along, despite Sherlocks... sociopathic tendencies.

"Ready to go?" I gestured towards the stairs, allowing Sherlock to take the lead.

"Sorry, Mrs Hudson, I'll skip the tea! Off out!" John called to Mrs. Hudson, who was standing near the bottom of the stairs.

"All of you?" Sherlock turned to her with a spring in his step which I would have thought was out of character based on our first meeting. Now I found it quite adorable; his enthusiasm for mystery.

"Impossible suicides? Four of them? There's no point sitting at home when there's finally something fun going on!" Sherlock kissed her on the cheek before making his way towards the door once more.

"Look at you, all happy. It's not decent." Mrs. Hudson scolded, but couldn't contain her smile. Neither could I.

"Who cares about decent? The game, Mrs Hudson, is on!" I gave a quick wave before giddily following behind the two.

"Taxi!"

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We sat in silence for a while, me looking at the both of them. John, who was looking out the window, every once in a while glanced at Sherlock, who was on his phone. I briefly made eye contact with the detective, raising my eyebrows, finally getting him to lower his phone.

"Okay, you've got questions."

"Yeah, where are we going?" John spoke up.

"Crime scene. Next?" Sherlock looked to me, signaling my turn to ask away.

"What exactly is it that you do? Besides rescuing princesses from certain demise?" John narrowed his eyes in confusion, looking between us.

"Is that how you know each other?"

"Yes," Sherlocks gaze did not leave me as he said this. "What do you think?"

"Hmmm..." I thought for a moment._ Maybe an Angel? No, he's to rude to be an angel... A knight?_ After a few seconds my eyes widened, signifying that I had finally come to a conclusion.

"A superhero!" I exclaimed with a smile, quite sure of my answer. John gave an amused chuckle, but Sherlock just rolled his eyes.

"Heroes don't exist."

"Don't they?" I gave a childish pout, tilting my head to the side in thought. When I was younger my nana had always read me to sleep with stories of heroes and knights and pirates, and I had always believed the stories to be true. No one ever told me otherwise. Until now, that is...

"I'd say private detective..." John said, unsure of his answer.

"But?" Sherlock turned his attention to John.

"... but the police don't go to private detectives."

"I'm a consulting detective. Only one in the world. I invented the job." He gave a smug smile that I couldn't help but smile along with.

"What's that?" I leaned forwards with enthusiasm.

"When the police are out of their depth, which is always, they consult me." He explained.

"The police don't consult amateurs." John argued, causing Sherlock to give him a look, an awkward silence filling the air. I leaned back, not wanting to get caught in the crossfire that was clearly about to go down.

"When I met you for the first time yesterday, I said, 'Afghanistan or Iraq?' You looked surprised."

"Yes, how did you know?" Sherlock took in a deep breath.

"I didn't know, I saw. Your haircut, the way you hold yourself says military. But your conversation as you entered the room said trained at Bart's, so Army doctor – obvious. Your face is tanned but no tan above the wrists. You've been abroad, but not sunbathing. Your limp's really bad when you walk but you don't ask for a chair when you stand, like you've forgotten about it, so it's at least partly psychosomatic. That says the original circumstances of the injury were traumatic. Wounded in action, then. Wounded in action, suntan – Afghanistan or Iraq." He didn't pause between sentences, ending his speech by clicking a k sound at the end, causing me to giggle quietly.

"You said I had a therapist."

"You've got a psychosomatic limp – of course you've got a therapist. Then there's your brother."

"Hmm?-"

"Your phone. It's expensive, e-mail enabled, MP3 player, but you're looking for a flatshare – you wouldn't waste money on this. It's a gift, then." John handed him the phone as Sherlock continued," Scratches. Not one, many over time. It's been in the same pocket as keys and coins. The man sitting next to me wouldn't treat his one luxury item like this, so it's had a previous owner. Next bit's easy. You know it already."

"The engraving." I thought aloud, noticing the back which said:

Harry Watson  
From Clara  
xxx

"Harry Watson: clearly a family member who's given you his old phone. Not your father, this is a young man's gadget. Could be a cousin, but you're a war hero who can't find a place to live. Unlikely you've got an extended family, certainly not one you're close to, so brother it is. Now, Clara. Who's Clara? Three kisses says it's a romantic attachment. The expense of the phone says wife, not girlfriend. She must have given it to him recently – this model's only six months old. Marriage in trouble then – six months on he's just given it away. If she'd left him, he would have kept it. People do – sentiment. But no, he wanted rid of it. He left her. He gave the phone to you: that says he wants you to stay in touch. You're looking for cheap accommodation, but you're not going to your brother for help: that says you've got problems with him. Maybe you liked his wife; maybe you don't like his drinking."

"How can you possibly know about the drinking?" Sherlock smiled.

"Shot in the dark. Good one, though. Power connection: tiny little scuff marks around the edge of it. Every night he goes to plug it in to charge but his hands are shaking. You never see those marks on a sober man's phone; never see a drunk's without them." He handed the phone back, " There you go, you see – you were right."

"I was right? Right about what?"

"The police don't consult amateurs." He turned his head towards the window. _Wow,_ I mused,_ that was hot_. Sherlock bit his lip nervously awaiting a response; an action I probably wasn't supposed to notice.

"That ... was amazing." Sherlock looked at him, genuinely surprised. He didn't say anything for a few seconds, still in shock.

"Do you think so?"

"Of course it was!" I spoke up, "That was one of the most brilliant things I've ever witnessed!"

"It was extraordinary; it was quite extraordinary." Sherlock looked at the two of us before looking back out the window.

"That's not what people normally say."

"What do people normally say?"

"'Piss off'!" He smiled at us, causing John to grin and look away, and I to cover my mouth in an attempt to quiet my giggling

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

We finally arrived at Lauriston Gardens, exiting the cab. I wavered briefly, looking at all the people around. I felt my legs shake slightly as i shifted my weight between my feet._ What if someone recognizes me? What if they're looking for me?! Sherlock must of just told the police! That's why he wanted me to come along! Oh god!_ I mentally panicked, feeling my heartbeat quicken.

"They're just here for the body." Sherlock muttered, seemingly reading my mind, quietly consoling me. I smiled at him briefly, then followed him closely, like a child to its mother. John looked at us briefly, but decided not asking would be better.

"Did I get anything wrong?" John paused a few seconds before answering,

"Harry and me don't get on, never have. Clara and Harry split up three months ago and they're getting a divorce; and Harry is a drinker."

"Spot on, then. I didn't expect to be right about everything." Sherlock smiled smugly to himself.

"And Harry's short for Harriet." John continued, causing Sherlock to stop dead in his tracks. I, being so close behind him, almost bumped into him.

"Harry's your sister." He mentally kicked himself.

"Look, what exactly am I supposed to be doing here? I know Anne's your assistant, but why am I here?"

Sherlock ignored him,"Sister!" He said through gritted teeth. I gave a sympathetic smile which he just ignored as he continued on to the crime scene where a dead body awaited. "There's always something."

"No, seriously, what am I doing here?" John stopped as if to say 'answer or I'm not gonna come with you!', but was continually ignored. He looked at me with an exasperated look on his face. I just shrugged, giving him one of my contagious smiles in an attempt to cheer him up. It seemed to work as he continued to follow up to the police tape, where Sergeant Donovan awaited.

"Hello, freak." I furrowed my brows at her ever so rude greeting. Sherlock, however, paid no mind to her rudeness.

"I'm here to see Detective Inspector Lestrade."

"Why?"

"I was invited."

"Why?"

"I think he wants me to take a look."

"Well, you know what I think, don't you?" Sherlock lifted the tape and made his way to the other side.

"Always, Sally." Sherlock paused and breathed through his nose. " I even know you didn't make it home last night." Donovan was about to speculate on how the hell he knew that, but instead turned her attention to me, who was trying to awkwardly go under the tape, still held up by Sherlock, without attracting attention to myself.

"Who's this?" I froze, still under the tape, leaving me in an awkward hunched over position.

"Umm..." I tried to think of an alias, but my brain faltered. _Shit shit shit shit-_

"My assistant, Ms. Anne Smith." Sherlock spoke for me. I smiled at her and nodded before continuing my way under the tape.

"And him?" Sally pointed at John this time.

"Colleague of mine, Doctor Watson." He turned to John, " Doctor Watson, Anne, this is Sergeant Sally Donovan. Old friend." His voice dripped with sarcasm at the end.

"A colleague? How do you get a colleague?! Let alone an _assistant_!" She turned to John, "What, did he follow you home?" John obviously didn't want to get in trouble with this incredibly pig-headed woman.

"Would it be better if I just waited and ..."

"No." Sherlock insistently held up the tape for him too.

"Freak's here. Bringing him in." Donovan said into her radio as she lead us to the house. I looked around at the officers, smiling and waving at a few, not sure how "normal" people usually acted. I decided to stop after a few of the officers gave me pointed looks; reminding me I was at a crime scene. As we stepped onto the pavement, a man with black hair parted in the middle in a light blue coverall came out.

"Ah, Anderson. Here we are again." Sherlock said as the man scowled at him.

"It's a crime scene. I don't want it contaminated. Are we clear on that?"

"Quite clear."

"Who's this?" Anderson looked at me up and down briefly. Sherlock was about to speak, but I spoke first, now confident with my alias.

"Anne Smith." I smiled as he shook my hand, briefly holding it before letting it go. Anderson smiled at me, and I could feel Donovan's glare in the side of my head. _Must be a romantic interest of his..._Sherlock interrupted our meet and greet with a deep breath.

"Is your wife away for long?" Anderson gave a nervous smile at me before giving Sherlock a look. _Or not._

"Oh, don't pretend you worked that out. Somebody told you that."

"Your deodorant told me that."

"My deodorant?" Sherlocks face gave a quirky smile.

"It's for men."

"Well, of course it's for men! I'm wearing it!"

"So's Sergeant Donovan." Anderson gave a look of shock at Donovan, then at me. I raised my eyebrows and bit my lip in an attempt to keep from laughing. My attempt failed. Sherlock inhaled sharply,

"Ooh, and I think it just vaporized. May I go in?" I began to laugh even harder at this, and Anderson looked at me, helplessly wishing I hadn't heard anything.

"Now look: whatever you're trying to imply-" Anderson began angrily, but was interrupted.

"I'm not implying anything," he made his way to the front door of the crime scene, " I'm sure Sally came round for a nice little chat, and just happened to stay over." He turned back, briefly looking at Donovan as he spoke:

"And I assume she scrubbed your floors, going by the state of her knees."  
Anderson and Donovan stared at him in horror, pure guilt in their eyes. Sherlock smirked before walking into the house, John and I looking briefly at Donovan's knees as we followed in. _Definitely hot._


End file.
